


Imagine Wolves

by yallaintright



Series: Werewolf AU [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, blatant disregard for werewolf lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yallaintright/pseuds/yallaintright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Okay. You’re a werewolf. Is this what you meant when I moved in with you and you couldn’t remember what you wanted to tell me or am I going to wake up tomorrow and find out Jehan’s a vampire and Grantaire’s a prince from a faraway land who will somehow get a sleeping spell thrown at him and need true love’s kiss to wake him up?” </p><p>The fact that Enjolras kind of hopes Grantaire is a prince from a faraway land who will somehow get a sleeping spell thrown at him and need true love’s kiss to wake him up is something he really does not want to think about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imagine Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> I take no responsability for the existance of this fic - it is totally and completely [Nat](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/)'s fault.
> 
> Betaed by the lovely [Kate](http://nippersinkee.tumblr.com/).

In his second year of college, Enjolras decides he is done with school dorms and moves in with Courfeyrac.

“You know,” Courfeyrac says with a frown, leaning against Enjolras’ bedroom door and watching him unpack all his clothes, “I keep thinking there’s something I should warn you about.”

“It’s probably not important,” Enjolras says, meticulously moving his socks to the bottom drawer.

“Probably not,” Courfeyrac agrees with a shrug, “Guess we’ll find out sooner or later, eh?”

Sooner or later happens two months later, when Enjolras comes home late at night after a very tiring day to find a bear-sized, ridiculously pink werewolf sitting on his couch and doing its best to howl along to Britney Spears’ “I’m Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman.”

“Right,” Enjolras says slowly, taking in the scene in front of him, “You know what, I have a paper to write on the sociocultural implications of sending dogs into space, I don’t have time for this bullshit. I’m going back to the library and whatever this is, I’ll deal with it tomorrow. Try not to eat my textbooks, will you?”

The wolf gives him what Enjolras can only guess is a reassuring smile (hard to say with all the sharp teeth, but the wagging tail seems to be a good sign) and Enjolras makes a quick trip to his bedroom in order to pick up his laptop. When he comes back, the pink wolf is still in the same place and appears to be trying to sing what sounds frighteningly like an Adele song.

“Right,” Enjolras says again and hightails it out of there.

\---

The good news is that when Enjolras comes home next morning, the pink wolf is gone.

The bad news is that there is pink fur absolutely everywhere.

The very bad news is that Courfeyrac has taken the wolf’s place and is now snoring _very_ loudly and _very_ nakedly on Enjolras’ favorite coach.

“The fuck?” Enjolras shouts.

“Don’t wake me up until there’s coffee,” Courfeyrac groans sleepily and hides his face under the pillow.

“What? No, seriously, _what_?” It’s possible that may come out a lot more high-pitched than Enjolras initially intended.

Courfeyrac blinks up at him from under his pillow. "Is there a problem?"

"Is there a - Courfeyrac, there was a pink wolf on my couch yesterday and now you're there and the wolf's gone and what the hell is going on?" If Courfeyrac broke into a circus to free abused animals again without inviting him, Enjolras is going to _strangle_ him.

From under the pillow, Courfeyrac stares at Enjolras like the blond’s just announced he's competing in the next season of America’s Next Top Model. "You do realize, of course, that I am a werewolf?" 

Enjolras' brain tries to process that and fails miserably. "No! I mean, that's - _no_. There's no such thing as werewolves."

"What?" Courfeyrac gasps and finally gets his head from under the pillow, sitting up on the couch. "You - but - _Enjolras_ , did you actually listen when I said I had something to tell everyone and got you all together and made a very long werewolf coming out speech? For fuck’s sake, there was an actual powerpoint presentation."

"Of course I did," Enjolras says, affronted. He does remember. Although, granted,  he may not remember the speech as well as he remembers how tight Grantaire’s pants were that day, but he still remembers expressions like ‘completely genetic’ and ‘not a choice’ and ‘completely harmless’ and ‘not transmittable by bite’ being used. "I thought that was an euphemism."

"You thought I made an actual coming out speech through lycanthropy metaphors?"

"Yes?" Enjolras asks. “Er, did you not?”

Courfeyrac frowns up at him. "I thought that one was kind of obvious when everyone walked in on me with my cock down whatshisface's throat like two days after we met."

Enjolras shrugs. "That could've been just a one-time thing."

"Enjolras," Courfeyrac says patiently, "my Facebook profile picture is a _wolf_."

"I figured you just thought that was terribly clever. You do have an awful sense of humour," Enjolras says defensively.

"I always spend the entire day after a full moon complaining about my throat hurting because I was up the entire night howling at the moon with the rest of my pack?"

"I thought you were just talking about your weird Courfeyracian mating rituals. Of which I still don't want to know anything about, Courfeyrac," Enjolras warns.

“And you also thought I had felt the need to point that homossexuality was not transmittable by biting?” Courfeyrac asks in disbelief.

“You’re always saying stupid things! I thought that was another just another stupid thing!” Enjolras shouts defensively.

Courfeyrac shakes his head at Enjolras. "I have never met anyone more hopelessly unaware of his surroundings than you.  You are so bad it's pathetic. Right," he says, throwing up his hands in surrender. " _I_ am going back to sleep. _You_ are going to call Combeferre and he is going to explain everything to you."

"Wait, but - "

Courfeyrac groans. "I was up all night, Enjolras. However, because I know this may be quite a shock to you and I actually like you some of the time, you may ask three questions."

"Only three? But - "

"Yes. And there goes question number one. You should perhaps consider using your remaining questions a bit more wisely."

"But that doesn't - " Enjolras cuts himself off and tries to focus on the important questions. "Okay. You’re a werewolf. Is this what you meant when I moved in with you and you couldn’t remember what you wanted to tell me or am I going to wake up tomorrow and find out Jehan’s a vampire and Grantaire’s a prince from a faraway land who will somehow get a sleeping spell thrown at him and need true love’s kiss to wake him up?”

The fact that Enjolras kind of hopes Grantaire _is_ a prince from a faraway land who will somehow get a sleeping spell thrown at him and need true love’s kiss to wake him up is something he really does not want to think about.

"Hum," Courfeyrac says, thankfully ignoring the bit about Grantaire. "Sort of? I mean, obviously, I thought you knew, so I just wanted to give you a heads up that I shed a lot. And sometimes wolf instincts take over and I tend to mark my territory."

Enjolras looks absolutely horrified at this, and Courfeyrac soothingly adds, "But you have nothing to worry about. I generally prefer to go howl at the moon in the woods whenever full moon comes. I would've gone yesterday as well but I had a fight with Combeferre and I was feeling too sorry for myself."

Enjolras instantly narrows his eyes, zeroing in on the fight. "You fought with Combeferre? Is there a problem with next week's protest?"

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes. "Of course you'd use your third question like that. _Of course_. No, there isn’t anything wrong with next week's protest,” he says, throwing his hands pathetically into the air. "It was just what I suppose is a normal fight when you're in a relationship with someone who doesn't understand the importance of meddling in other people's relationships when other people are too stupid to realize they want to be in a relationship with each other."

Enjolras nods along to make him shut up. And then his brain catches up with what Courfeyrac said and _what?_ "You - Combeferre - relationship?" He sputters pathetically.

Courfeyrac's mouth falls open. "No. Oh no no no no no. Are you trying to tell me that you didn't know? Because there's _no way_ , there's just no way that - I mean, even for you, this is _way_ over the top - "

“How the hell was I supposed to know?” Enjolras yelps.

“The number of times you walked in on us cuddling on the couch may have been an indication,” Courfeyrac remarks dryly. .

“You said you were huddling together to share body heat!” Enjolras says indignantly.

“I was joking!” Courfeyrac snaps. “Enjolras, it was _August_. Jesus, you are the most - Oh, no. Oh, _hell_ no,” Courfeyrac shrieks, as he goes absolutely still and his eyes widen in sheer, undiluted horror.

“What?” Enjolras asks, feeling the heavy weight of apprehension settle in the pit of his stomach.

“You _do_ realize you are in love with Grantaire, right?” Courfeyrac asks in a very small voice. “Please, _please_ , tell me you do realize you are in love with Grantaire.”

“I’m not in love with Grantaire,” Enjolras replies at once and Courfeyrac lets out a low, pitiful whine, hiding his face in his hands.

“I can’t _believe_ this - you are - this is - okay. Okay. I can do this. I can totally do this. Right. The important thing is to believe in myself,” Courfeyrac says, clearly talking to himself.

“Should I leave you alone with yourself so you can finish this conversation?” Enjolras asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Enjolras, you’re in love with Grantaire,” Courfeyrac calmly informs him.

“No, I’m not,” Enjolras says. Because he isn’t. Even if he does pay very close attention to Grantaire’s tight pants and occasionally wants to bury his hands in Grantaire’s hair and he sometimes gets butterflies in his stomach when Grantaire smiles. Okay, so by sometimes he may mean most times. And by most times he may mean always. But that doesn’t mean he’s in love.

“Darling, five minutes ago you asked me if Grantaire was going to need true love’s kiss anytime soon,” Courfeyrac points out.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m in love with him. I’m not. So I sometimes want to hold his hand and I want him to tell me about his day and I always want to make him happy but that doesn’t mean I’m in love with him.”

“Yes, it does,” Courfeyrac says, infinitely patient.

“No, it doesn’t.” Enjolras says, trying to reason with Courfeyrac, “You know what, even the fact that I sometimes want to throw him against the wall and just kiss him absolutely senseless to make him shut up doesn’t mean that I’m in love with him. Because he is the most infuriating, obnoxious, irritating, cynical person I’ve ever met and I don’t think there’s _anything_ I wouldn't do to make him smile when he’s sad and - oh fuck, I _am_ in love with Grantaire,” he says, his voice rising with every word.

“Oh, finally,” Courfeyrac shouts and gets up from the couch to do a naked victory dance.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Enjolras asks.

“We thought you knew!”

“Oh,” Enjolras blinks, “I didn’t.”

“Clearly,” Courfeyrac deadpans.

“What do I do now?” Enjolras asks.

“Now you go get your cynic,” Courfeyrac says, gently shoving him in the door’s general direction.

“Right,” Enjolras says again and runs out of his apartment for the second time in less than twelve hours.

\---

Grantaire lives approximately four miles from Enjolras’ apartment. It takes the blond a little over twenty minutes to run there.

He’s completely out of breath when he arrives and he knocks on the door before he’s had time to even consider what he’s about to say. He realizes he should probably come up with something vaguely resembling a plan of action but then Grantaire opens the door shirtless and Enjolras loses the ability to think coherent thoughts.

“Apollo? What do you want?” Grantaire asks with a raspy voice.

Enjolras quickly takes in the red nose, the dark circles under his eyes and the blotchy skin on his face and raises an inquisitive eyebrow, “What - happened - to - you?” He has to take a desperate, gasping breath between every word and maybe running there wasn’t the best idea he’s ever had.

“Spring allergies,” Grantaire says, defensively and a little too quickly. “What _do_ you want?”

“Hi! I - Hi! I have to - tell you - something!” Enjolras is never, ever, ever running anywhere again. Whoever invented running deserves to be shot.

“Oh my god,” Grantaire gasps, “Jesus, Enjolras, did you _run_ here?”

“Yes?” Enjolras says.

“Have you been making stupid bets with Courfeyrac again? I thought you’d learnt your lesson after the coconut bra - “ 

“No, I just - “ Enjolras takes a very deep, very calming breath, “It may have been brought to my attention that I am in love with you.”

Grantaire’s face immediately breaks into a very broad, very happy smile. “I _was_ wondering how long it would take you to notice that.”

“You _knew_?” Enjolras shouts.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says very, very patiently, “you are a great many things, but you are _not_ subtle.”

“You could have told me,” Enjolras says indignantly, for the second time that day.

Grantaire shrugs. “I wanted you to realize it by yourself. Besides, it was kind of fun to watch you squirm whenever I wore tight pants.”

“You _always_ wear tight pants,” Enjolras points out.

“ _Exactly_ ,” Grantaire says with a wolfish grin and Enjolras has to resist the urge to kiss him, before realizing he doesn’t have to resist it at all.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he gleefully informs Grantaire.

“Well, I suppose if you must,” Grantaire says magnanimously and doesn’t stop smiling until Enjolras brings their lips together.

“There’s something you should know,” he says into Enjolras’ mouth, minutes later.

Enjolras’ eyes narrow at this, but he doesn’t waste the opportunity to push Grantaire into the apartment, closing the door behind them and gently shoving him against it. “Are you a prince from a faraway land who will somehow get a sleeping spell thrown at him and need true love’s kiss to wake him up?”

“What, no,” Grantaire gasps as Enjolras starts to leave a trail of kisses down his neck, “what the fuck, Enjolras?”

“Those things _can_ happen,” Enjolras tells Grantaire’s neck.

“Just realized - jesus _fuck_ , your teeth - just realized Courfeyrac wasn’t joking about being a werewolf, did you?”

Enjolras bites his neck with a little more force than necessary. “We are _not_ going to talk about Courfeyrac right now. We can talk about Courfeyrac in an hour. Or two. Or -”

“But we really should - “ Grantaire tries to say.

“Please shut up,” Enjolras says pleasantly and slides down to his knees.

“But - “

“I’m going to make you shut up now,” Enjolras says, unbuttoning Grantaire’s pants.

He doesn’t succeed - not exactly - but Grantaire does lose the ability to form coherent sentences very quickly and Enjolras is most definitely going to count it as a win. 

**Author's Note:**

> [An accurate representation of wolfeyrac, courtesy of Nat.](http://img833.imageshack.us/img833/7003/idh4.jpg)
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://pullthedevildown.tumblr.com/)


End file.
